


The Heart of the Matter

by shannie541



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, Asshole Gabriel (kinda), Chronic Illness, Destiel - Freeform, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, First Love, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Protective Castiel, Protective Sam Winchester, Recreational Drug Use, Sick Dean Winchester, Sick!Dean, Teen Angst, Teenage Drama, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:08:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2797361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shannie541/pseuds/shannie541
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam Winchester return to Lawrence - and to Lawrence High School - after nearly three years of being away. They aren't greeted with open arms by the ones they left behind and have to make a new life for themselves in the wake of new friends, new enemies, and the reason for them leaving in the first place still hanging over their heads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> ***This is sa re-work of my previous fic of the same name. Some of the things from the first story are the same here but a sizable chunk has been changed with more things added for depth and clarity of the timeline and character development***

When Dean arrives at school, he’s early. The sun’s up and shining a vibrant yellow light just behind the back of the school and Dean squints against the brightness of it from where he sits behind the wheel of the Impala in the student parking lot. It’s empty save for a few cars from the students there already for back-to-school club meetings, where Sam is, so he reclines back against the leather of the seat and exhales. Lawrence High is a large building, four stories tall and made of sturdy brick. Dean scoots down lower in the driver’s seat and thinks about how the building looked so much larger in his head, intimidating almost. But from where he’s sitting now, it’s smaller somehow – less of a daunting and unnerving image from his seemingly unattainable dreams of normalcy and more like an actual high school with red bricks and a football field in the back. His knee moves in a steady twitch that he doesn’t bother to ignore anymore. Instead, he rubs a hand – pointedly ignoring how that shakes, too – across his sternum and closes his eyes against the sun.

The sound of slamming car doors and eager voices jolts Dean into wakefulness. He glances down at the clock and mutters a curse. When he looks back up at his surrounding, he realizes belatedly that other cars have pulled up beside the Impala and that there are students hanging around outside in the parking lot – greeting one another after the end of a long and hot summer – dragging themselves and one another towards the door. There are a few, though, that stop with pointed stares in his direction, which is expected. He hasn’t seen these people in years and the Impala is an unfamiliar figure sitting on the asphalt behind the school. Dean sighs, reaching over to grab his book bag on the floor of the passenger seat. The Impala’s door squeaks when Dean pushes it open and shoulders his bag. Before heading off to the door, he lovingly pats the top of the Impala and strolls off.

 

The school had mailed his schedule and locker assignment over break and since Dean is still vaguely familiar with the school from his, albeit, brief time as a freshman, so he meanders to his locker with his eyes glued stubbornly to the ground. There’s excited chattering all around him even still. Somewhere behind him, Dean hears the sound of girls shrieking excitedly and Dean resolutely just stares down, admiring how shiny the floors always seem to be on the first day.

Navigating the hallways don’t prove too difficult and Dean finds his locker easily enough. He’s muttering the combination to himself, trying to figure out how to get the damn thing open, when he hears someone clearing their throat behind him. The first time he hears it, he ignores the sound, but after the third time, it’s clear that whoever it is wants him to turn around and just as he’s about to, the person heaves a sigh and leans heavily on the locker beside him.

“You know, I saw that big, black boat of a car you insist on driving parked outside and I thought I was hallucinating. I mean, in this heat, I don’t think it’d be that hard to believe. Do you?” The words are said teasingly but there’s an underlining _something_ there, too.

Dean turns and forces himself to look at the other boy in the eye and pulls his lips up into a casual smirk. “Hey, Gabe.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow and something flashes in his eyes. “That’s it? Somehow I figured that if I ever saw you again, you’d have something a bit better to say than that.”

Dean flinches almost imperceptivity and his hand grips the strap of his bag tighter. “Ok… How was your summer?”

“My su-“ Gabe brakes off with a derisive snort. “Oh, that is rich. Which summer? This most recent one? The one before that? What about the – “

“Dean!” Dean turns his head sharply in the direction of his name and throws up a silent prayer when Sam’s head and mess of shaggy hair appear above the heads of other students. He’s smiling but his eyes dart between the tight expression on Gabriel’s face and the blankness that he’s trying to keep on his.

“Hey, Sammy.”

Gabe pushes himself off the locker and rolls his shoulders as if he’s trying to make himself appear bigger – taller – than he actually is. “Samuel. Good to see that the Winchester boys have finally decided to roll back into town. We missed ya.”

Sam’s smile seems to twitch a bit, inching closer to genuineness with his dimples making an appearance. “Really?”

Dean leans against the locker, watching the exchange. Gabe’s face darkens somewhat and a cruel smirk dances on his lips. “Actually, nope. Not even a little bit.” With that, he turns and heads off down the hall, disappearing in the throng of students that gravitated towards one another in the center. Dean watches him go but can feel the way tension seeps into Sam’s large frame beside him as wariness pulls his own shoulders down.

“Well…I guess we shouldn’t wait on the welcoming committee making an appearance anytime soon, eh, Sammy?”

Beside him, Sam heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his mop of hair. “It’s good to be home,” he mutters grimly just as the bell rings.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So basically when I promised regular-ish updates, I kinda lied. Sorry!

Dean finally wrestles his locker open with Sam a solid presence at his side. The door bangs loudly in the new quiet that descended on the hall when people started to make their way to their first class.

“So.”

Once Dean tosses his excess notebooks into his locker before jamming his book bag in after. He turns and fixes Sam with a raised eyebrow. “So?” he mimics.

“Gabe cornering you in the hallway probably wasn’t the best way to inform everyone that we’re back.”

“Nope.” Dean says, cheekily emphasizing the ‘p’. The hallways have already started to clear after the first warning bell rang. Sam, though, seems content where he stands with his patent bitch-face resting perfectly in place.

“Don’t be a jerk, Dean.”

Dean groans. “Look Sam, we’ll have a little heart-to-heart about this later, okay? ‘sides, don’t you need to go to your locker and get a pen or something? Geekboy can’t be late to his first class at his shiny new school.”

“Har-har. You’ve got physics with Henrikson first period and I’ve got English with Mills. The rooms are right across the hall from each other and I already dropped my stuff off before I came to find you.”

Dean shuts his locker with a huff before rolling his shoulders, tension already seeping in even though the day hasn’t even really started yet. “You didn’t _need_ to come find me in the first place.”

“Right,” Sam says with a small shrug that looks suspiciously unrepentant.

There’s no real point in fighting Sam on anything really. There’s a running joke in the family about how eerily similar he and John are – from the fiery glint to their eye or the steal set to their jaw whenever the moment calls for it. Sam’s shoulders draw up with tension as they walk through the hallways towards class and Dean knows he’s beat before he even opens his mouth to try to fight. It’s been like this their entire lives – with Sam only being a year younger than Dean but seemingly always running at his heels – but it’s worsened in the past few years when they moved away. Dean understands Sam’s need to feel like he’s in control of something because that same desire runs through his veins as well and the thought of it alone floods him with enough guilt that he doesn’t even bother fighting anymore.

They arrive at Dean’s class first. “See you at lunch?” Sam asks, already turning and heading towards his own class.

“Yeah, but I’ll probably be late. Gotta meeting with Chuck first.”

“Oh, right. Well I’ll save you a seat.”

Dean nods in an affirmative. “Later, Sammy.”

 

Dean walks into a class and the room is already nearly full. Students stand around their desks talking animatedly once again, some with cell phones out, undoubtedly showing pictures of summer vacations. A pang of jealously hits Dean squarely at the thought of it – their long and lazy summer days spent at beaches with family and friends while he was laid up with his only respite from increasingly darkening thoughts being homework assignments and a little brother too afraid to let him out of his sight for longer than absolutely necessary. He presses a hand to his sternum, rubbing at the bone there and scar that runs down the center of his chest. Before his mood sours further, Dean shuffles to the back of the class and plops himself into one of the available seats in the last row. He wiggles his phone free out of his back pocket and scrolls through old text messages between him and Sam or him and Jo and, desperately, even the terse exchanges between him and Bobby just to have something to look at so that he can fade more easily into the background.

 

Class starts soon enough, much to Dean’s delight. Victor Henrikson walks into the room, books tucked securely under his arm, with all the authority of a former military man. Oddly enough, his presence is soothing in its familiarity and Dean sits up properly in his chair with the older man turns to address the class.

“Alright, everyone. Let’s take our seats and put the phones _away._ ” Students shuffle to comply; the authoritative tone that colors Henrikson’s voice leaving no room for argument. “Alfie, when I say ‘phones’ pretend that I’m talking about every electronic device you have on you with the exception of your calculators. iPad goes away now or you won’t see it until the new year.” The boy in the front Henrikson is addressing – _Alfie_ Dean’s mind supplies – lets out a squeak that’s audible even where Dean sits in the back of the room before rushing to stash the tablet away.

Class goes on very much in the same vein. Henrikson is intense and stern even on the first day. He flies over a brief review of what he thinks they should know that sends some other students scrambling – scribbling away furiously in notebooks. Dean, though, watches with a keen eye and relishes in the comfort that the numbers and formulas bring, feeling calmer and more relaxed than he had all morning. Twenty minutes before class is set to end, Henrikson hands out a quiz. The class releases groans and mild protestations that the instructor silences with nothing more than a harsh look.

“Stop your whining. This is basically me making sure that the summer sun didn’t _completely_ fry your brains. It’s just to gauge where you are. There’s no points assigned to this technically but if you use that as an excuse to screw around and not take this seriously, I will know.”

When Henrikson reaches Dean, he takes the paper from the older man and is barely able to squash the bit of glee that nearly bubbles to the surface. When Dean, Sam, and John left Lawrence before Dean had a chance to officially start high school all those years ago, there was an arrangement set up that allowed Dean and Sam to complete homework and assessments online specially arranged by the district head, Rebecca Rosen (who seemed to have an odd fascination with John that Dean didn’t even want to _think_ about) and Lawrence High’s principal Charles Shurley. So, despite having not crossed the threshold into an actual school in years, Dean knows that he’s not rusty by any means. When the final bell rings and Henrikson comes around to collect the quizzes, Dean returns his paper with a confident smirk.

 

When the bell rings that signals the end of first period, people jump from their seats as if they were only barely restraining themselves and clamor for the door. Dean stands, gathering his things in preparation to leave as well when a voice from the front of the room stops him.

“Mr. Winchester. Hang back for a moment if you don’t mind.”

Dean _does_ mind. He minds very much but he knows better than to do anything but stand awkwardly while he and Henrikson wait for the last of the stragglers to leave before making his way up to the front of the room.

“Sir?”

Henrikson raises a brow, dark brown eyes meeting Dean’s green. His lips twitch in an imitation of a smile before he echoes Dean. “’Sir?’ Between the flood of emails we’ve exchanged while you and your family were away, I think we’re a bit past the formalities.”

“Well,” Dean says barely containing a grin of his own, “you were the one that started with calling me ‘Mr. Winchester’.”

“Eh. I do have a reputation to maintain, y’know? One of the first things I learned in the military is that people respect you a hell of a lot more when they’re afraid of you.”

“I didn’t realize that being a high school physics teacher and being in the military were the same thing.”

“You’ve been out of the game for a long time, kid. It’s also pretty similar to the ape exhibits at the zoo.” At that Dean does laugh and Henrikson smiles in turn. “It is good to finally have a face to put with the name and homework. Just wanted to give you your first official welcome back to Lawrence, kid. Unless your old friends got to you first.”

Dean’s mind flashes back to Gabe in the hallway and how, with the exception of interacting with him again, he’s basically like a ghost in the halls. “Yeah, not so much.” Henrikson doesn’t respond to Dean’s sudden shift in mood but he does shuffle through the papers a bit before he pulls out Dean’s quiz from earlier.

“Obviously I hadn’t had a chance to grade any of these yet but I did glance at yours. Pretty solid work, Dean.”

“Thanks,” Dean says as he shuffles where he stands. “Wasn’t as intense as some of the other stuff you sent me in the packets of work from before.”

“Yeah, that’s also what I wanted to talk to you about. Some of what I’d given you before was a bit...extra. A push, I guess you could say. If you’d like to, we could continue on with that as separate work from the class. You’d still be expected to keep up with your assignments from here, exams and whatnot, but have side assignments to work on for later. That is, if you’re interested.”

“Seriously? Sounds awesome, man!”

Another smile ghosts over the teacher’s face as he nods. “Alright. Give me about a week to get things together and I’ll have another packet of assignments for you to hand in whenever. Now,” he says scribbling on a blank sheet of paper, “here’s a pass. Get to class – you’re already late.”

“Got it.”

 

 

Dean walks hastily to his locker, still riding the high off his brief meeting with Henrikson. It’s with a joyous feeling of relief that he notes the hallways aren’t as busy as they’d been previously, probably because he is so late. With that thought, he rounds the corner to his locker and promptly runs into a dark haired boy in a rumpled burgundy hoodie and startlingly blue, wide eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek! Loads of exposition and a touch of backstory but...boy with dark hair and blue eyes and a burgundy hoodie! Whoever could that be???? Hmmm....


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look! An update. A poorly edited update, but it still counts, right?
> 
> Don't judge me too harshly. This was written after two - okay three! leave me alone! - glasses of wine. #ItBeLikeThatSometimes Gonna pick through it and fix typos and whatnot tomorrow. Without the wine. Maybe.

Despite the impression that Dean can occasionally give off to people (mainly Sam, let’s be honest), he doesn’t go out of his way to be a _complete_ asshole to people. However, him standing stock still and slack-jawed after plowing into someone and leaving them scrambling to pick up their things _probably_ isn’t the best way to make a good first impression. And if the frown and pinched expression the other boy wears is any indication, he’s probably thinking the same thing, too. Still, though, from the occasional upward glances the other boy casts his way, Dean can make out eyes that are so vividly blue that he can’t help but the stare.

Self-awareness comes slowly for Dean, starting with the boy looking away and his mouth pulling into a frown, pale lips pulled tight. Dean jerks himself out of his reverie and feels a steady blush creep up his cheeks before he drops painfully to his knees to pick up the last of the stray books and papers he inadvertently sent flying.

“God, I’m such as ass. Sorry, shit, sorry – let me help.” _Instead of staring like a psycho creeper_.

Dean’s eyes flicker up to the other boy’s face. His expression is less angry, almost too carefully made neutral, but his lips betray him with reluctant twitches that seem to imitate a barely-there smile. He sits back on his haunches, seemingly all too happy to let Dean organize his belongings and fiddles with the sleeves of his hoodie. “Thanks,” he says quietly. “Although,” he begins, raking a hand through his already messy and unkempt hair, “I guess it’s my fault, too. I was running late and clearly not watching where I was going.”

Dean breathes a laugh, pushing himself to stand and to pass the stack of books over to their rightful owner who stood as well. “Yeah, you and me both.”

“While this has been an…exciting way to start my senior year, I should get going. You probably need to as well, seeming as how the bell has already rung.”

For the first time since leaving Henrickson’s class, Dean really takes stock of the hallway. What once was overrun by obnoxiously overeager students (because, really, who’s _that_ excited by the first day of school?), is now completely empty except for the two of them. The doors to the classrooms that line the halls are all firmly closed but the silence of it all is somehow made all the better by the only other soul in the hallway with him. The boy isn’t as tall as he is, Dean notes, but not by much. Despite the late summer Kansas heat, he still wears a hoodie that’s zipped to mid-chest but even through the cotton fabric, Dean can make out that he’s lean and muscled – what’s visible of his t-shirt pulls against the t-shirt of his chest and Dean swallows. He’s being weird, again, he notes. His companion has stopped talking and seems to be staring at Dean with a wary and concerned expression while Dean shameless ogles his body and the blush returns to Dean’s face, the heat of it making him shuffle awkwardly and duck his head.

“Right. You’re right. I-uh, I actually got a note from my last class so I should be pretty good for a few more minutes before the townspeople come hunting me down.

That gets another well-controlled twitch of the lips from the shorter boy as he readjust his armful of belongings that seem oddly intense for the first day of class. “Right,” he echoes.  “Well, since I don’t have one of those, I guess I should be on my way to class then,” he says, looking up into Dean’s face.

“Yeah.” Dean gives a smile and fiddles with the note from Henrickson in his hand. “Yeah, see you around I guess.” With a nod, Dean gives a pat on the shoulder as he and the dark haired boy part ways. Dean rounds a corner of lockers and ducks his head out sneakily, noting him walk down the hall to class. It’s only after the echo of the closing door travels down the hallway that Dean realizes he never got his name. He curses himself with a quiet growl before heading on to his own destination.

 

 

The rest of the day until Dean’s lunch period goes by without much flare. There are a few stares from some people that remember him from middle school, but Dean resolutely decides to ignore them. He runs into Gabe once but the other boy only brushes past Dean while carefully and skillfully looking in the other direction. He sees Sam, which given his height isn’t that difficult to do, talking to a curly hair blonde girl that Dean vaguely remembers seeing a time or two over the summer and stashes that bit of information away for later. However, during the shuffle of going from class to class, the face that Dean most wants to see seems ever illusive.

When lunch starts, while the rest of the student body heads off to stuff themselves with square hunks of pizza that still probably taste like cardboard or mystery meat, Dean treks to the principal’s office. One of the conditions of starting school officially like a normal goddamn person was regular check-ins with Chuck – Mr. Shurley as he’s known to most. Dean’s father had arranged it with the school as a means to make sure that he stays on track to graduate without becoming overwhelmed with not being, essentially, homeschooled any longer. The idea of it was enough to make Dean grit his teeth whenever it was mentioned before but the promise of no longer being stuck in his room anymore was enough to make him agree to just about anything. And Chuck’s pretty cool, actually. A little shifty and jumpy most of the time, but a cool dude otherwise and strangely approachable – something that probably has to do with his aloofness.

Dean bypasses the front office secretary with a grin and head’s in to the office. Chuck’s behind his desk, typing away furiously, so distracted that he doesn’t seem to register Dean’s presence until he clears him throat. As predicted, the older man jumps in his seat, giving a hasty wave before clumsily clicking out of whatever it was he was working on before Dean came in.

“Is this a bad time?” Dean asks with a raised brow. He doesn’t wait for an answer before taking a seat on the other side of the principal’s desk.

“Oh, uh. No. This-this is good. How are you, Dean?”

“Good.”

“Good. That’s good.” Chuck shifts in his seat and the two sit in an uncomfortable silence before either one of them speaks again.

“…is that all?  Because if it is, I don’t want to miss the last of the pie in the cafeteria. My cousin Jo told me that stuff usually goes pretty fast.”

“Oh! Right. Well, this first meeting is, I guess, really informal. You let me know how things are going so far – how you feel about the workload you’ve been given for the semester – and we try to work with that. And your comfort level with being around other students full time again.”

Dean sighs and slouches in his seat. “The workload is fine; no worse than it was really when I was away. I guess it’s going to be a little tricky to getting used to due dates and things instead of just turning in stuff at the end of the quarter, but I should be alright. Hell, all things considered this should be easier because at least I won’t be doped up this time around.”

Chuck nods as Dean speaks but eyes him suspiciously when he’s finished, eyes sharp. “And the other students?”

“It’s fine,” Dean replies tersely.

“Oh, so you’ve told them – your old friends at least – why you were away?”

“Not exactly? Look, the only people that know besides you guys are Sam and Jo and that’s because they’re family and I couldn’t shake them if I tried. I’m pretty sure no one even remembers me at this point, or if they do, they probably haven’t given too much thought to me being gone.” Chuck, in all of his weird and dorky ways, seems infinitely wiser than he appears at first glance and appears ready to call him out on his bullshit before he stops himself. Something must read on Dean’s face after the lies all but tumble out and a flash of Gabe’s face - golden eyes and a knowing smirk – sticks out in his mind and the guilt of his absence and lies curdle in his stomach. His hands clench into a fist as he wills the feeling to go away to deal with another time when he isn’t sitting two feet away from his principal.

Chuck pushes away from his desk and eyes Dean carefully. “Well, I suppose that since your _fine_ , we can cut this meeting short, huh?” Dean slings his bag over a shoulder and moves to stand. “But I hope you know that you can talk to me. And your teachers. We can help – or at the very least be an ear to listen to when you need us.”

“Sure, Chuck. I appreciate it – and you guys working with me so that I can graduate and stuff on time. I’m actually, uh, registered to take the ACT in a couple of weeks so…yeah.”

Chuck’s face lightens at this and he gives Dean a smile. “Yeah? That’s great, Dean. Seriously. You’re a smart kid. Be a shame to let all that go to waste and end up here stuck in Lawrence with the rest of us. But don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Sure. Catch ya later, Mr. Shurley.”

Dean’s at the door, hand perched on the handle when Chuck calls out to him once again. “Your cousin Jo is right. The pie today is apple and let’s just say, I hope someone saved you a slice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This is late. Like suuuper late and I'm sorry but it was really hard getting this chapter out. So instead I wrote a new thing: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3314114 
> 
> But I hope you guys like it??? There will (obviously) be more Dean/Cas interaction later (as in the next chapter). And Dean and Gabe interaction because they were practically best friends at one point in time before shit got really real.

**Author's Note:**

> SIGH  
> Ok, long story short is that I was getting a bit bored with the last incarnation of that and it was definitely becoming painfully clear in my writing (or lackthereof if you get my drift). Also, my computer problems have finally be resolved (fingers crossed they stay that way) but not without some stuff being lost which is what first prompted the idea of a re-write. Also-also, I took a creative writing class this past semester and it was the first one I'd had in a long time and it was awesome! Even though it was only 16 weeks, I learned a lot as a non-English major being surrounded by English major folks that want to make a career out of it. I hope to use a few of those skills here.
> 
> Also-also-also!! As of last Sunday, I officially graduated college! This means I have ample free time before I start studying for the GRE and applying for graduate school so I am going to use that time (and those new skills) to write more stuff - fic and original work.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this! :)


End file.
